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Oh to be able to understand what whiteness might be to a blind man.
Should I have blessed to never know light of day, yet I could speak, and listen to words, I would possibly conjure patterns of my own design for identifying that which surrounds me.
These patterns would recognizable to no one, but me, When I hear or touch, these same repetitious patterns, I feel certain my mind would be a beautiful kaleidoscope of thoughts, or emotions only I could understand. Would I not... still be happy?